


Devotional

by Are



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Heathens, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 11:10:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Are/pseuds/Are
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jimmy and Thomas go to church, and accidentally articulate some revelations. Spoilers through season four.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devotional

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crocodilepatronus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crocodilepatronus/gifts).



> My last (and very belated, thank you for waiting, Croc!!!!!!!!!!) fill for the Downton Charity Drive. Crocodilepatronus reprieved me from writing Crob and asked for thommy (yessss). This is a vague riff on the story of Samson and Delilah.

Jimmy wanted to see Thomas pray, and so he conspired to get the other man into a church. It was simple enough- Thomas seemed inclined to say ‘yes’ to Jimmy more often than not.

"I’m not religious," Jimmy said, on an evening when he had his plan well in mind. "Not religious per se. But- but the day me mum died is- it’s on the morrow- and I like each year to go to church, and say a few things for her."

Thomas nodded, his face turned towards seriousness. He was so intent upon Jimmy’s words that he had stopped smoking his cigarette, and Jimmy noted Thomas’s attention, and was pleased by it. Even with Thomas’s… _stranger_ qualities, still he was an admirable man- and Jimmy felt like a clever sort indeed, being gifted as he was with Thomas’s full concentration.

"And as it’s your half day as well- I was wonderin’ if- uh- would you go with me?" Jimmy asked. He had meant to sound nonchalant- but the question came out rushed. Jimmy, though he had botched the delivery, had the satisfaction of watching Thomas’s eyes widen.

"Uh- certainly," Thomas said. "If y’like." When Thomas was surprised- be it for good or ill- his lips would part, and his expression would give the game away. ‘ _His jaw dropped,’_ Jimmy thought. Thomas was so _like_ that- like a character from a book- consistent- but also nuanced, someone you could read again and again and never tire of.

"Thank you, Mr. Barrow," Jimmy said- and he got to his feet, stretching his tired arms.

"It’s nothin’," Thomas said. Thomas’s cigarette was worthy of his attention again, it seemed- so Jimmy left him to it.

There were so many ways to ruin a man, Jimmy thought, that it was miraculous if you could not find one. Jimmy ruminated on this, as he lay underneath his coverlet, trying to summon sleep. If one particular person refused to be vulnerable- they became a pillar, an oddity, a revelation.

But maybe _vulnerable_ wasn’t the right term. Take Mr. Barrow, for instance. He was vulnerable all the time- he had been so enamored of Jimmy that his feelings had always shown upon his face- before Jimmy had rejected him. And _when_ Jimmy had rejected him- then the pain on Thomas’s face had been ruinous indeed- but still, he had come through it whole, alive. And in the years hence Thomas had been very much himself- wry, sharp-tongued, often alone- but not miserable. Not pitiable. Thomas would cheat or bend or bow when faced with difficulties or a strong wind- he swayed, he was full of tears- but he was never broken.

_That’s quite fine of him, isn’t it,_ Jimmy thought, shutting his eyes. _Quite marvelous_ -

In the morning Jimmy woke a quarter-hour before his alarm, and lay in bed, trying to understand why he felt like something exciting was going to happen. _Oh, yes,_ Jimmy thought, when he came back to himself entirely. _Today we’re going to the village._

So they did, after luncheon had been served- the weather was February through and through, and the ground was wet. Thomas and Jimmy walked single file in some spots upon the wooded path that led to the church, avoiding the muddy patches as well as they could, and cursing when their feet were caught by the soggy ground.

"What’s the one thing you couldn’t bear to have happen to you?" Jimmy asked Thomas- and Thomas cracked his knuckles- pushing against the joints of one hand with the flat, gloved palm of the other. Jimmy wondered at the scar under the glove. He had never caught a decent glimpse of it.

"Forgot my other gloves," Thomas said, with a grimace- and he rubbed his hands- one bare, one half-bare- together, for warmth.

"You can take mine, I’m not cold," Jimmy offered- but Thomas shook his head. "You’re not cold because you have gloves on," Thomas said- and Jimmy rolled his eyes.

"I have assorted _other_ articles and vestments on as well,” Jimmy said- and Thomas smiled at his tone. “Bet you think it a pity, that I’m so clothed,” Jimmy said, still teasing- but Thomas balked, coming to a standstill- and shot Jimmy a withering look.

"You’re _very_ witty,” Thomas said- and Jimmy resisted the urge to hunch over, under the force of Thomas’s irritation. He looked back at Thomas with a grin- hopefully a natural-looking one- plastered across his face. “Just a bit of fun,” Jimmy replied, feeling his own pulse quicken in anxiety. _Don’t make him upset, what if he refuses to go with you? You’ll never see him pray then-_

"If you can’t joke with your best mate," Jimmy added, putting his arm loosely over Thomas’s shoulder, "Who _can_ you joke with?”

"You can’t joke very well at _all_ ,” Thomas said- and he shrugged off Jimmy’s arm, and resumed walking. But Jimmy could see that he had touched Thomas, by calling him his _best mate_ \- that was a particularly effective measure, something Jimmy trotted out from time to time, for a myriad of reasons. It worked well for distracting Thomas if he had gotten ahead of Jimmy in cards- as if the prospect of Jimmy’s lifelong friendship were, somehow, more interesting even than the idea of winning a game- and for other things- like pulling Thomas from a dark or dour mood. _My friendship means so much to him,_ Jimmy had observed, _that he_ must _still be in love with me. I think he is. I’m almost sure._

For a moment they walked quietly- however it was Thomas who broke the silence. “What were you askin’ me before?”

"Oh. Uh- what’s the one thing you couldn’t bear to have happen to you?" Jimmy asked, rather more eagerly than he had intended to. "What’s the thing that would ruin your life?" Even if Thomas’s life were ruined, Jimmy thought, Thomas would probably still go on, clawing and scrabbling up the slopes of misfortune, until his feet again met solid earth. At Jimmy’s inquiry Thomas looked off into middle distance for a beat, and then swayed his head ‘round, so that their gazes met. But only for an instant- and then Thomas was busying himself with a cigarette.

"I’d hate to be blind," Thomas said, around his cigarette- he blew out a puff of smoke, raising his eyebrows- and Jimmy fumbled for his own pack, so appealing did Thomas make the exhalation look.

"Yes," Jimmy said, pulling out his lighter- "-but would it ruin your life?"

"Oh, I don’t know," Thomas said, with a snort. "What’s the one thing that would ruin _your_ life?”

"There isn’t any one thing," Jimmy said, watching Thomas’s back, as they passed though a copse of slim-trunked trees. Thomas had one hand in his coat pocket- but his- his _good_ hand- that is to say, the one without the glove- looked frightfully cold. Thomas clutched his cigarette between red-tipped fingers.

"So why d’ya think there’s only one thing for me?" Thomas asked- and Jimmy chuckled- he hadn’t asked himself that, either, until Thomas had put it to words. "I don’t know," Jimmy said, slowly. "It just seems as if-"

"Jimmy," Thomas said- and he stopped suddenly, making Jimmy come up short upon the path. "At the risk of prying- are you _alright_?”

Jimmy said nothing, blinking- and Thomas coughed, and tugged at his collar, looking uncomfortable. “Y’just… seem… odd,” Thomas muttered, looking at his own fingertips, and then the ground.

"I’m just thinking about my mum, that’s all," Jimmy said, after a too-long stretch of silence- and Thomas looked uncomfortably away. "I’m sorry I brought it up," Thomas answered, quietly. "Of course you are. Stupid of me."

Jimmy felt a flare of guilt work through him as they continued down the path. Of course he _did_ feel a bit bad about his mum- but not in the way that Thomas thought. Jimmy’s deceit was unsavory indeed- he had lied about the date of his mother’s death. The unhappy anniversary was in November, not February. And Jimmy had never gone to church for his mother before- though he did keep her in his thoughts, each year when the time rolled round to that third week of the eleventh month. _I’m sorry, mum,_ Jimmy thought, with chagrin. _But once the idea of him praying got into my head I could hardly wait all those months to see it, could I? And it isn’t as if I could have mustered up such a wealth of sentiment for Father. Even that isn’t ‘til July- I’m sorry, mum, but I swear I’ll take the train to your grave this year, and bring evergreens for you-_

"You saw Miss Bunting at the house, didn’t you?" Thomas asked, breaking the silence between them. "I could have died laughin’, watching all of them try to be polite to _Branson’s_ working-class sweetheart-“

"Ah, there you go again with your grudge," Jimmy said, wagging a finger. Thomas looked relieved- at the levity in Jimmy’s tone, maybe- but he rolled his eyes, all the same.

"I don’t know what you’re complainin’ about, anyhow," Jimmy added, just to watch Thomas draw himself up indignantly. "If they’re completely infiltrated by working-class people, you’ll get just what you want, won’t you?"

"I want them all to have to wait on me hand and foot for half their lives, almost, and see how they like it," Thomas said, smartly- he flicked the end of his cigarette away, watching the arc of it.

"It _was_ funny,” Jimmy allowed. “That schoolteacher kept lookin’ at the family as if she expected they were going to eat her alive.”

"They keep knives for carving up the peasantry in the silver closet," Thomas said. "Perhaps she sensed we had taken them out for sharpening-"

He and Jimmy snickered- and then the village was in view, and Jimmy could see the spire of St. Michael of All Angels, and made for it, rushing Thomas along with the persuasive speed of his strides.

"Wait a _little_ ,” Thomas groused- but he matched his pace to Jimmy’s- and when they pushed through the doors of the church Thomas shut them firmly behind, and rubbed his chilled-looking hands together, in obvious relief.

Jimmy had wanted to be alone- but they were not- a young woman sat in a the pew nearest to them, at the very back of the building. Jimmy frowned at her- but then, as if she had been pushed by his will- she finished her prayer and rose to her feet, nodding to them demurely. Thomas held the door for her as she left, and Jimmy heard the appreciation in her voice as she thanked him. Women, Jimmy had noticed, liked Thomas. Perhaps not the women they _worked_ with, as a rule- but women they met. If Thomas had been- had been _normal_ \- with his looks and his charm he could have had almost any one of them.

_Are you jealous of Mr. Branson because he married up, as you can never do?_ Jimmy thought- he was on the verge of asking it- but then the woman was gone, and he and Thomas were alone.

The church did not welcome them like saints: the sky was overcast, and the windows gave no radiant light- no sun streamed in from outside, to make it look like a proper house of God. The tones were all diffuse, even through the stained glass- and the pale stone walls of the building seemed washed of color. The space beyond the arches was draped in shadow. All of this Jimmy observed as they walked up the nave, their feet making muffled sounds upon the old stone floors.

"Nobody here but us Philistines," Jimmy whispered- the quiet of the place made him whisper- and Thomas scoffed, and dropped into the pew nearest to the pulpit, fixing his coat. "Speak for yourself," Thomas retorted, archly. "I’m as cultured as they come. I’m just not _religious._ Religion hasn’t anything to do with being cultured.”

It wasn’t precisely true- Jimmy could safely bet, from numerous conversations, that he at least had more knowledge of theatre than Thomas did- but so imperious did Thomas seem, inclining his head upwards from where he sat, that Jimmy felt nothing but affection for him.

"You’re just exactly the sort of man everyone should style themselves after," Jimmy said- Thomas looked at him suspiciously, expecting sarcasm- but Jimmy was being sincere. Thomas _was_ a man to style yourself after- in some ways. In some ways- career-wise, for example- Jimmy had even emulated Thomas.

"Don’t sit. Come up to the chancel with me," Jimmy said, indicating the altar. "I want to pray up there."

"I don’t pray except in times of great gratitude or strain," Thomas said, so immediately that he might have rehearsed it- and Jimmy laughed, sending echoes of merriment through the room.

"Oh, right? Like what?" Jimmy asked, cajolingly, standing over Thomas. Thomas flapped his gloved hand at Jimmy- as an answer to Jimmy’s question or as a dismissal of it, Jimmy could not be sure which.

"Please come up there with me," Jimmy said, seriously. It was dreadfully important that he get to see Thomas pray, and he injected as much real feeling into his voice as he could. "Please. I asked you because I don’t want to go alone." Deliberately Jimmy put his hand upon Thomas’s shoulder. It was more difficult than it should have been, when he had done the same thing on their walk. But- but everything seemed to have a greater sense of import now-

Thomas’s eyes strayed to where Jimmy’s hand lay against his coat- and Thomas rolled his eyes- but he stood up, breaking the contact. “ _Fine_ ,” Thomas said, in the tone of someone who had suffered unimaginable hardships- however Jimmy could see that Thomas wasn’t annoyed with him. It was just Thomas’s way, Jimmy thought, to cover up all the tenderness he felt. Because of how things had gone between them before. But Thomas gave himself away in actions anyhow.

"Thank you," Jimmy said, quite seriously, when Thomas was on his feet. Thomas gave him a sidelong look, but took the first steps towards the altar, before Jimmy could even bring himself to move his feet. For an instant Jimmy felt a spark of real _apprehension_ , sharp and palpable- and then it was gone, and together they walked to the steps that lay before the high altar. Jimmy swayed on his feet, taking in the details of everything: the gold-green of the cloth upon the table, the heavy old candlesticks, the large cross- and the towering window of stained glass figures, broken into five panels, telling a story of Christ.

"Alright, then," Jimmy said, so softly that he was sure Thomas could not have made out his words- and he sank to his knees upon the steps, before the bar that cordoned off the altar from the worshipers.

Beside him Thomas knelt as well. Jimmy could feel the force of Thomas’s eyes upon him, and he willed himself not to blush. In his imaginings Thomas would by now be pouring his heart out to a mute God, giving Jimmy everything, laying bare his emotions. In reality Jimmy realized he had put himself rather on the spot: now he would actually have to pray. _Do it silently,_ Jimmy advised himself- but no- that wouldn’t work- if he kept his thoughts to himself, then Thomas would undoubtedly do the same.

"Ah," Jimmy said, quietly- and looked to the side. Thomas removed his hat, and held it in his hands, and Jimmy followed suit, tugging off his cap, embarrassed at his lapse in manners.

The church was perfectly silent. Jimmy could hear Thomas breathing next to him. Awkwardly Jimmy cleared his throat, wondering at the tremor in his own hands, and he set his cap upon the stair, and clasped his palms together.

"Ah… hello, mum," Jimmy said, squeezing his eyes shut. That wasn’t right- it felt nearly _evil_ to try and give a false speech to his mother on a day that was not remotely the proper date of her death. Especially in this place. _Talk about something else, then, someone else,_ Jimmy decided. _Just pretend it’s about her. Then it isn’t cruel or sacrilegious, right?_

Jimmy heard Thomas shift beside him, probably taking ample care not to brush against him, per usual. _Talk about Thomas,_ Jimmy decided. _He won’t know. And it’ll feel good to…get it off your chest…_

"I… I came here today because I was thinking about you," Jimmy said, quietly. "But I’m always thinking about you, I suppose. I can’t think of a day that goes by where I don’t."

Jimmy inhaled through his nose, slitting his eyelids open- but he dared not look over at Thomas- and he shut them again. Easier to close your eyes.

"I know I’m not… that I _wasn’t_ … always the nicest person, in my life,” Jimmy went on. “I’m not _condemnin’_ myself, mind, but I- see how I might’ve been unkind, sometimes-“

From beside him Thomas let out a tiny, choked sound that might have been a smothered laugh- and Jimmy elbowed him in the side. “Be quiet, I’m _prayin_ ’,” Jimmy said, as sternly as he could.

"Sorry," Thomas murmured, and then the church was quiet again. Jimmy took a breath.

"And I have to apologize for it, you see, because I think you are- I think you _were_ , I mean,” Jimmy said, correcting himself- “I think you’re the finest person I have ever known. I would walk through fire for you- now, I mean, knowing you- and I’m not foolish, y’know, I don’t- I don’t go running in arse-first to save anybody. Maybe there was a time I would have walked away- and left you to it- but now… looking back on everything-“

"You can’t say _arse_ in church,” Thomas advised Jimmy, in an undertone- and Jimmy opened his eyes, giving Thomas an indignant glare.

"It’s _my_ prayer, isn’t it? I’ll say whatever I want to,” Jimmy retorted.

"I’m sorry. It’s being in this _place_ ,” Thomas answered, not unkindly. “I’m bein’ rude, I think. Say what you’d like, and I won’t interrupt.”

"Thank you," Jimmy said, deliberately, and resumed his posture of deference. "As I was saying, God- er- _mum_ \- as I was saying- I would do anything for you. Would have done. I’ve seen so many things, you know, and I’m not yet thirty… I’ve seen fires- and war- and jazz and the finest pictures and worked the most _degrading_ jobs and- I’ve- I’ve seen people die- and- and I feel as if there isn’t a way to share it with you… because…”

Thomas had stopped making any noise, but Jimmy leaned towards him, just to feel the slight pressure of the other man’s arm- for reassurance. Thomas did not move away- perhaps out of respect- and Jimmy went on.

"Because even if you were right beside me, this very moment, I- I’m terrible at talking, and a very bad listener, and I feel so locked up in myself sometimes that I don’t think I can care for anyone at all-"

Jimmy’s chest felt tight- and for a moment his voice broke- but he fought through the lump in his throat and went on speaking, his words gathering momentum, coming from his lips without artifice or plan.

"But- I needed you, I did, and I didn’t scarcely know it, and I- I had no idea- I needed your ways and your adoration and your cleverness and your love- because… only I was so _lonely_ , before, so lonely you couldn’t even know, and the thing of it is- I’d prefer it that way- I’d- ah… I’d p-pick it again, being alone, if I couldn’t be with you-“

Jimmy’s hands were shaking so much that he had to rest them upon the partition. He wrapped his fingers around the bar; a drowning man with a questionable anchor. It was difficult to get the words out, and yet- and yet Jimmy went on, compelled by a force he could not quite grasp, to speak-

"And… I- oh- when my family died I was- I felt so miserable- and I was sure I’d hate the world forever, every little bit of the world, until I breathed my last breath in it, and take my contempt with me even to the grave- and I- I hadn’t any friends- or ever been in love-" Jimmy took a hitching breath, and wiped his eyes with the back of his palm. "I- I would have sold you up the river, you know, to save myself- but now I see it’s _our_ river, and only us upon it, and if you left me- I think it would break my heart-“

"Jimmy," Thomas said- and Jimmy turned without thinking, without hardly looking, and put his arms around Thomas’s shoulders, embracing him. He rested his head against Thomas’s chest, and heard Thomas let out a stifled gasp of surprise.

"I wanted to _ruin_ you, you know,” Jimmy said, to Thomas’s lapels. “I wanted you ruin you, because it was such an affront to me- but you’ve done it instead, you’ve ruined me completely, and I don’t know how I’ll ever be the same again. I’ll never-” Jimmy lifted his head, looking up into Thomas’s face, which showed the pallor of astonishment.

"Don’t cry, Jimmy," Thomas said, when their eyes met- Thomas’s face crumpled into a stricken expression- and he dropped his hat, and put his arms around Jimmy in return. "Don’t _cry_ , alright, it’s a bit frightening to see you cry,” Thomas said, in a half-whisper- and Jimmy laughed shakily, feeling the pressure of Thomas’s arms- and kissed Thomas on the cheek.

Thomas blinked, rapidly, and Jimmy pulled himself more closely to Thomas’s chest, feeling suddenly far too shy to look into Thomas’s eyes.

"Before God and everything, Thomas Barrow, I do love you, and I don’t care what it makes me," Jimmy said, trying to still the shaking of his body and his voice. "And it took me years to say it, and years to understand it, and if you don’t want me any longer I’ll try to-"

"I want you, of course I love you," Thomas said, in a rough-sounding tone- and he put one of his cold hands through Jimmy’s hair, touching the side of his face and the tip of his ear- and Jimmy let himself feel the touch completely, as if he could sink into it, become one with it. Together they kneeled upon the altar, holding onto eachother.

_If the pillars fell right now,_ Jimmy thought, _if the church collapsed around our heads, and we died in this embrace, we’d be saints for sure, and they’d build a marble statue for us, and everyone would be forced to admit that our love was strong and pure and full of goodness- and they would sing a hymn for us, even, for the lovers who died before the feet of the Lord- so obvious would it be that we cared for one another in a way that was true and right-_

"You didn’t need to come _here_ to say all that,” Thomas was saying, looking into Jimmy’s face.

"Well- I-" Jimmy began- but Thomas cut him off, kissing the corner of Jimmy’s mouth- and Jimmy stammered in surprise at the sensation of it. " _Ah_ , Mr. Bar- Thomas- wait- but I weren’t honest with you. We came here on false pretenses-“

"Your mother died in November," Thomas said- and he let go of Jimmy and stood up, dusting off his trousers, before offering Jimmy his hand.

"You told me last year," Thomas went on- and Jimmy took his hand and got to his feet, mutely. "You don’t remember. You’d had a bit to drink when you told me," Thomas went on, with a half-smile. The smile was lopsided- Thomas seemed a bit shell-shocked. _Good,_ Jimmy thought, vaguely. _I hope I should have such a profound effect on you._

"I didn’t realize you’d caught me in my lie," Jimmy said. To cover his chagrin he bent, collecting his cap and Thomas’s discarded hat. Jimmy put Thomas’s hat on the other man’s head wrongly, deliberately, feeling a good deal more normal- and he smiled when Thomas scowled, and adjusted the brim.

"So why bring me here?" Thomas asked- and Jimmy blushed, starting down the aisle. "I wanted to see you pray," Jimmy muttered, looking at the floor. "This wasn’t a planned thing, that mad babbling I just did. That caterwauling. That _display_.” On impulse he reached out to Thomas- finding his hand- and Thomas wrapped his fingers firmly around Jimmy’s palm, and squeezed his hand just hard enough to ease the ache in Jimmy’s chest.

"To see _me_ pray?” Thomas asked- but his voice was gentle, and he waved his free hand towards the vaulted ceiling with good cheer. “Alright,” Thomas said, and cleared his throat. “Dear Lord, I am so humbly filled with gratitude for the fact that you’ve given me Jimmy Kent, the mad man of Yorkshire, as my own- to have an’ hold. In your name and whatever I do sanctify…ah… myself. And much more of that and so on and thereforth. Truly a thousand Amens. Sincerely yours, Mr. Barrow, all around brilliant person of fortitude and ability-“

Jimmy laughed. “You sound drunk,” Jimmy informed Thomas- who smiled at him, such a lovely genuine smile that Jimmy was taken aback by it.

"I _feel_ a bit drunk,” Thomas agreed.

"Hm? Oh. Me as well," Jimmy said- and they looked at one another. They had walked all the way back to the double doors, and Jimmy turned, and gazed at the church one more time. It would have been perfect, Jimmy thought, if the sun had come out at that very moment, and set all of the church windows afire with color and glory. But it was not a perfect world- merely the best world it could be- and the light remained grey. But that, Jimmy decided, was perfect too.

"Why don’t you wear my right glove," Jimmy said, stripping it from his hand as he spoke- "and I- I’ll wear my left glove- and then we can both smoke an’ keep one hand in our pockets, besides."

"Sounds reasonable," Thomas said- and he took the glove without argument- and slipped it on- and opened the door.

"Now," Thomas said, with a wicked look, "What you said about wanting to _ruin_ me- I could show you some things, Jimmy-“

Jimmy laughed, trying not to be scandalized- and shoved Thomas out the door. “Away with you, heathen,” Jimmy said- and he stepped into the world.

"Away with us heathens," Thomas agreed- and they shut the church door behind them, and struck off for home.


End file.
